


The Short Pier and the Long Walk Home

by robots



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bad sex etiquette, Blow Jobs, Dermatillomania, Dissociation, Drug Withdrawal, Face-Fucking, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Light Masochism, M/M, Mood Swings, Paranoid Delusions, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Wet Clothing, bad people having mediocre sex, carl manfred is dead route, hitting during sex, nonsexual vomiting, referenced sex for drugs, referenced transactional sex, references to inappropriate fantasies about an older man, semisexual choking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 15:51:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16140494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robots/pseuds/robots
Summary: The world is falling apart and so is Leo Manfred.





	The Short Pier and the Long Walk Home

**Author's Note:**

> The scenario for this is lifted directly out of one of my other fics but all you need to know is that Leo decided to hide out at Kamski's place while Detroit was going nuts

Leo’s right hand hurts. He can’t stop thinking about it. Every heartbeat brings another stinging pulse of pain from the cut across his palm. Like a lot of the shitty things in his life it had happened when he’d gotten angry. He’s stupid when he’s angry. Shatter-a-glass-in-your-hand-while-trying-to-hit-someone-else-with-it _stupid_. He’s not sure exactly how bad it is, just wrapped some bandages around it and closed his fingers in a fist around the bandages. He tried to change them earlier, but the dried blood made them stick to the cut and that hurt so he’s just trying to ignore it now. Trying and failing.

He hates this- hates this whole fucking shitshow. He keeps thinking he’ll snap out of it, he’ll wake up and none of this would be happening. Detroit wouldn’t be a warzone, he wouldn’t have been ordered at gunpoint to evacuate his apartment, Markus _(fucking Markus)_ wouldn’t be leading some kind of revolution ‘cause androids were suddenly alive now, and he wouldn’t curled up under a blanket in Elijah Kamski’s guest bedroom, shivering and stinking of vomit.

His mouth tastes terrible from that blue blood shit Kamski had fed him, like battery acid and burning plastic, but he’s feeling marginally better than he usually is at this point. Kamski had said drinking the blue blood would help take the edge off, and the bastard had been right. The crash had been less of a freefall and more like a parachute descent -in between bouts of retching his guts out. Every time he thinks he’s done he tastes thirium at the back of his throat and winds up doubled over the toilet again, heaving up nothing, like it was clinging to inside of his gut, refusing to leave.

Leo presses a hand to his stomach, trying to quell the twisting feeling. It feels like someone has hollowed him out and filled the cavity with worms. 

It’s a feeling he is well acquainted with, almost like being hungry, but without wanting to eat. A nameless listless craving, a hole he would normally try to fill with nicotine and sex and booze until he could get his next hit. He knows if he waits long enough the sharp edge of the hunger will dull enough to live with. Until things get bad again.

He flips over so he’s lying on his front, hoping the pressure on his empty stomach would distract him.

He’d thought it’d been a trick of his guilty conscious, seeing Markus back at the cemetery, but then he’d seen him on the news. He’d gone into a panic, convinced Markus was going to find him and kill him for what he’d done, and had fled here, completely off his ass on red ice. It had made sense at the time- who better to help him hide from an android than the man who invented them? The only time he and Kamski had seen each other in the last 3 years had been at Carl’s funeral, so it’s surprising that he’s let him stay this long. The first two days had been bad but tolerable- until Kamski had found Leo’s stash. He’d dragged Leo out into the snow, tossed it out onto the thin ice covering Lake St. Clair and told him if he wanted it so bad he could go and get it.

Leo is thinking clearer now, if barely, his thoughts circling in the slow, muddled loops that accompanied the comedown. If he were back at his place, he’d pop a couple xannies and sleep it off. Now he’s left with a familiar sinking feeling, heavy limbs and heavy thoughts that he can’t shut off.

He wishes the ground would just open up and swallow him- it would save everyone a lot of trouble.

Leo wishes for a lot of things. He wishes he could get some sleep, he wishes he hadn’t come here. He wishes he hadn’t tried to break that glass on Kamski’s stupid face, ‘cause now he’s probably going to need stitches. Most of all he wishes he knew why he’s such a massive fuck up on every conceivable level, why the universe keeps throwing chances his way and why he keeps blowing them. It’s like he has some kind of uncontrollable call to the void- something in him that makes him push back against every bright corner of his life until they disappeared completely. And he keeps pushing, and pushing, and pushing.

Like he’s pushing his fingers into his skin now, rubbing in circles, searching out uneven spots, old scabs and old scars. Down his side and over his hip. He forces himself to stop when he looks down and sees the blood under his nails from a scab he’s worried open, and shoves his hands underneath the pillow to keep it from happening again.

Kamski probably wouldn’t appreciate it if Leo got the little flecks of blood that decorated almost all his own clothes on whatever $500 pair of underwear he’d let him borrow. Yeah- that’s another wish; that’d he’d had the foresight to bring a couple of changes of clothes with him when he’d fled here. Not that he’s complaining too much- Kamski’s clothes actually fit pretty well, and they were nice, nicer than anything Leo owned, probably nicer than he deserved. But walking around in Kamski’s clothes, wearing _his_ underwear, and using _his_ shower was definitely bringing up some feelings Leo thought he’d left behind years ago. When he’d first met Elijah at one of those dumb events his dad used to invite him to. He’d been all striking blue eyes, sly smiles and complete and utter unattainability. Leo had been mortified, standing there in his cheap suit and greasy hair, with his unfinished community college degree and recent release from rehab. So he’d gone to hold up the bar, waited until he was drunk enough to cause a scene, and had been politely asked to leave. 

Leo feels something stinging and wet on the back of his thigh and yanks his hand away, blood on his fingertips again. _Shit goddamnit._ He hadn’t even noticed he’d started picking again.

The need to get up is suddenly all-consuming. He needs to move around, do something other than just lay here with his thoughts, trying to dig holes in his skin.

He pushes himself up, shrugging off the duvet, and leans over the side of the bed to fish for the shirt he’d tossed aside a few hours ago. Some soft, flowy white tank made out of expensive feeling natural fiber. He finds it and pulls it on before padding barefoot into the hall. The lights out here are bright and it makes his head hurt.

Leo isn’t sure exactly where he’s going or what he intends to do, coasting room to room on a slow, half-aware autopilot. Maybe he’ll bust into Kamski’s wine cellar, steal a bottle of something imported and expensive to help him sleep. Maybe he’ll take Kamski up on his suggestion, try his luck out on the ice. Maybe he’ll fall through, and get to stop having to think of what to do next.

Leo pauses at the end of the hall, paralyzed by his indecision, lost momentarily in the pulsing in his head. Like his brain is a wet sponge that someone is slowly squeezing all the water out of. He’s starting to zone out, so he shakes his head to try and clear it, and musters the motivation to move. He ends up at the pool, because maybe just looking out over the ice will satisfy the urge thrumming under his skin.

The room is blessedly dark, the only light reflected moonlight off the snow, filtering in through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake. 

Leo takes a look down at the water and it’s like the phantom puppet strings of residual dopamine and norepinephrine are cut suddenly, and the decision of where to sit is made if only because he can’t bear the thought of taking another fucking step. He sinks down next to the water. The cool tiles feel good on his bare legs, and the sound of the waterfall almost manages to drown out the droning of his mind.

This is fine. He can see outside from here anyway. Light looks like it’s slowly seeping into the horizon, melancholy pre-dawn blue. This is the only way he ever sees the sunrise anymore- staying up to meet it. Maybe if he doesn’t sleep tonight he’ll be able to black out for a solid 12 or 14 hours later today. That way he’ll be able to avoid having to talk to or be seen by Kamski.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that a rich, reclusive genius was something of a control freak. Leo has spent most of the last few days avoiding him as much as possible, but when they do have encounters Kamski always has some shit to say. About the way he sits, the way he eats, his habits, about how he’d dropped out of school, how he’s been wasting his life these last few years. Other times he wouldn’t say anything, just stare Leo down while he’s trying to eat breakfast or whatever. Like he’s dissecting him in his mind. Leo hates that more- it makes him want to throw things, slam things around, grab Kamski by the front of his shirt and yell until he tells him what he was thinking about so fucking hard, until he admits he thinks he’s better than Leo.

He isn’t sure he could muster the energy to do that right now. Right now he just wants to melt into the floor. 

Leo sticks a hand in the water, fascinated by the way it distorts under the rippling surface, the weightlessness. From there it’s easy to justify slipping the rest of the way into the pool, shirt and all. Stripping would have made it too complicated. 

The water is cool, and feels good against his irritated, picked-over skin. His hand stings, but it feels far away. He pushes away from the edge and tilts until he’s floating on his back, chest and hips pointed towards the ceiling, like he’d learned to as a kid. He stays like this for a while, just floating. 

His mind just won’t turn off. It keeps circling back, like a dog to its own vomit. Kamski’s eyes on him, needling out every little flaw. Like Leo doesn’t already know all the ways he’s a fuck up. Like he needs reminding. And underneath everything, something unspoken, a wound that is still too severe to acknowledge. 

Carl.

Leo doesn’t know how much Kamski knows about what happened. Leo isn’t even sure how much he’d told him, when he’d first showed up on his doorstep. The memories were hazy.

Leo closes his eyes and tilts his head back, hoping the water over his face would be soothing. He exhales, and allows himself to sink. His limbs feel heavy, and he wonders if he could sink all the way to the bottom.

He counts in his head. To thirty, to sixty. For a few moments there’s nothing but numbers and the steady pounding of his pulse in his ears, in his throat, growing louder and louder. 

He can feel his chest tightening, the slight convulsions as his body tries to draw in air against his closed throat and knows he has to come up for air. He’s about to, too, when suddenly there’s a disturbance in the water and something wrapping tight around his chest. He’s so startled he gasps, and fuck, okay, now he’s panicking because now he’s _drowning._ There’s water in his lungs and it burns. He can’t breathe and there’s something- someone, holding him in place. His body fights on reflex, taking in another lungful of water, and struggling against the arm holding him, until suddenly there’s air on his face and a sharp pain against his back from the lip of the pool digging into it.

He drags himself the rest of the way out and rolls onto his side, retching and coughing up water. Between the burning in his lungs and throat, and the cramping pain in his abdomen, it takes him a moment to notice the hand smacking his back. Leo rolls back over to stare blearily at the silhouette, expecting one of those android girls he’d seen wandering around, and is surprised to see Kamski kneeling next to him.

He looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Leo takes a breath to answer, which just instigates another bout of coughing. He manages words, but just barely. 

“Jesus Christ would you just-” He starts hacking again, lungs heavy and retching from water, “Just fucking leave me alone!” 

Kamski levels him with a cold stare, the one that gets right under Leo’s skin in the worst way. “The tabloid article almost writes itself. _Son of Famous Painter Found Dead in Home of Cyberlife Founder.”_

Leo’s head is still swimming, his pulse pounding in his ears. He barely caught the words but he knows by the tone he’s being mocked. He’s still too tired to deal with this, so he puts his head between his knees and takes one or twenty deep breaths, until the urge to cough on each inhale disappears. 

Kamski is still talking. Leo lifts his head slightly. His eyes sting with chlorine or tears or both. 

“What?”

“I asked you if you were trying to die. Is that what you want? To die?” He sounds flippant, like the answer doesn’t actually matter, like he could care less if Leo actually was trying to down himself in his pool.

Leo doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares at Kamski, dumbfounded. “What’s it to you, huh?”

Kamski doesn’t reply, just continues to give him that look. Its effect is somewhat diminished by his disheveled state; dripping with water, long hair coming loose from its braid.

Leo grinds his teeth together under the scrutiny as the silence drags on. Kamski obviously expects an answer, so Leo’s being forced to think about it, and he hates every second. Finally he snaps. “No, alright? I don’t.” 

Next to him, Kamski leans back on in his hands, still appraising. The stretch is just enough to bring out the definition of his torso. He’s shirtless, Leo realizes belatedly, and he’s instantly reminded of the gnawing hunger worming underneath his skin, a yawning emptiness begging to be filled with _something._

“Then what _do_ you want, Leo?”

Leo’s eyes trace the path of a drop of water over Kamski’s collarbone and down his left pectoral. His mouth suddenly runs dry. He hides behind the act of wiping water off his face and pushing his fingers back through his hair, feeling warm and cold all at once. “I want you to leave me alone.” He says, petulant.

Kamski tilts his head, like he’s trying to figure out the source of an annoying noise coming from the next room over. His cold, blue eyes are still boring holes into him.

_“What do you want, Leo?”_ He repeats. His voice is lower, sterner, and Leo’s gut twists. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t fucking know.

“I want you to shut the fuck up! How ‘bout that?” Leo snaps. Kamski just smiles, and something about it gets Leo’s blood up. For a split second the familiar anger flares bright and hot, and he wants to wrap his hands around Kamski’s throat, smash his head against the tiles until that smug fucking smile is gone.

But just as soon as it appears, the anger vanishes, like a balloon deflating. That’s not what he wants, and he knows it.

Leo’s been out of control for years, he’s not stupid, he knows that. Careening from one disaster to another. The last few weeks have been some of the worst in his life. He’s been reeling, untethered, since what happened with Carl. Things keep happening and he feels like a passenger in his own head, watching someone else make all these terrible, shitty decisions. Making deals he knows he can’t go through with, empty promises. Stealing, pushing, lighting up, hiding here like a fucking coward. He thinks of the bag of red crystals sitting out on the ice, how much it had cost without the money to pay for it. Poor little Leo, alone in the world now with no one to love him. Not that anyone ever did.

He wants to feel something, other than confused or angry or _empty._

But looking across at Kamski, reclined back in the dark, looking like every embarrassing fantasy Leo ever cooked up when he was 20, is surreal enough to make him think he _can_. Just for a little bit. Just for right now.

Fuck it. He’ll probably be dead in a couple days anyway.

“Just… shut up.” Leo hears himself saying, even though Kamski still hasn’t said anything. He slides his knees underneath himself and braces an arm on the other side of Kamski’s hip. They’re inches apart now, chest to chest. He can’t look Kamski in the eyes so he looks down instead. “I just want you to shut...up.”

Kamski hasn’t moved a muscle. His voice is hot against Leo’s ear, but he sounds even and congenial as he asks; “Would you like to make me?”

That does it. Leo surges forward, crashing their lips clumsily together. He fully expects Kamski to shove him back, knee him in the chest and berate him… but he doesn’t. Instead he bites at Leo’s bottom lip and knots a hand in the wet fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

Kamski tastes like wine, dry and red, and Leo clings to that small shred of humanity- the Man of the Century sometimes drinks himself to sleep, just like everyone else. Leo wants to taste more, to get rid of the acrid flavor of the blue blood still clinging to the back of his mouth. 

Kamski is accomodating, opening his mouth when Leo licks against his lips.

Kamski kisses like he’s planning on writing a technical manual. Thorough. Detail oriented. His tongue laps into Leo’s mouth; pressure against his palate, his molars. It’s almost too easy, considering the turbulent nature of most of their encounters.

Then the hand fisted in his shirt ( _Kamski’s shirt,_ Leo reminds himself) is tugging him down and Leo nearly loses balance. Kamski tilts his head, exposing his neck and shoulder, commanding him silently. So Leo follows with his mouth the paths his eyes had tread just moments ago, pressing wet, open mouth kisses to Kamski’s jaw, his neck, his collarbone. 

Leo lets himself be lead, caught up in the heady realization that he’s living out his old fantasies, afraid if he examines the moment too closely it might disappear out from under him. His head is swimming with half-remembered fragments of just what those fantasies were. Things that were safe due to their impossibility. Things his therapist probably would have had a field day with. When he’d been younger, dumber, more starved for this kind of contact. Back when his and Kamski’s difference in age seemed so much larger, back when the thought of being bent over a kitchen counter by a _friend of his dad’s_ had been so fucking _hot._ The scenarios had changed depending on his mood- sometimes he’d knock Kamski down a few pegs, debasing himself to prove that he _was_ good at something. Sometimes he’d imagine Kamski cornering him in the backroom of whatever reception hall or art gallery they’d both ended up at, and being helpless to stop the older man from taking what he wanted. All of it had been cliched, hackneyed bullshit, all of it had one focus- the feeling of being wanted.

Leo’s not sure if he feels wanted right now, but the edge on that thought is still too raw to risk touching.

The position is starting to get awkward, Leo’s arms are beginning to tremble with the effort of holding himself up. So he’s glad when Kamski starts pushing instead of pulling, rolling Leo over onto his back.

Leo dares to meet Kamski’s eyes and his expression is impassive, untroubled. It makes Leo’s chest tight and uncomfortable, but it is hard to look anywhere else, with Kamski looming over him, straddling his lap, literally sitting on his dick. At least it’s easier to touch like this.

Leo runs his hands up Kamski’s thighs, up to the hem of his dark briefs. They’re wearing the same set of underwear and Kamski’s legs are smooth and hairless. Bastard probably waxes. Kamski is sliding his long-fingered hands up underneath the hem of Leo’s shirt, peeling the wet fabric back. Leo’s stomach flips, and he tries and fails not to feel self conscious. He hasn’t been to the gym in well over a year and the once lean lines of his abdomen have started to turn doughy. Kamski’s half a foot taller than him, but they probably weigh the same.

Kamski gives Leo a sharp pinch above his hip and Leo lets out a noise, high pitched and undignified. At least that finally seems to get a reaction- Leo spies a thin smile tugging at one corner of his mouth before Kamski is crowding down against him in another deep kiss.

It’s harsher this time, more teeth, more force, and Leo begins to find his footing, in more familiar territory. He pushes back just as hard, and reaches up to grope Kamski’s ass. Kamski grinds down against him and yeah, that’s it. He’s starting to get hard, though it hurts; he’s still cold from the pool. Kamski’s pushed Leo’s shirt all the way up his chest and rolls his thumbs over the tight buds of his nipples. Leo whines and licks up into Kamski’s mouth between ragged breathes. He must have gone insane at some point, because this couldn’t be actually happening.

Kamski pulls back suddenly, sitting straight up, hands braced against Leo’s waist, still moving his hips in little circles, grinding against Leo’s half hard dick. His eyes are hooded and his lips are glossy from spit, but he seems otherwise unaffected and then Leo’s diving straight back into hatred, for himself, for Kamski, because he’s a complete mess but Kamski’s looking at him like a particularly uninteresting specimen under a microscope and god, he’s just as pathetic as he was 10 years ago. He screws his eyes shut, sure whatever the hell this is is about to end.

“Look at me, Leo.” Kamski admonishes, and he can’t. He tries to turn to the side, but Kamski grabs him by the chin and forces the matter. Leo’s eyes snap open when Kamski’s thumb runs over his bottom lip. Kamski sighs. “Good.” Then slips the thumb into Leo’s mouth. He depresses Leo’s tongue, holding it against the bottom of his mouth. Leo’s face is burning but he sucks on the digit like it’s good dick and is rewarded because he gets to watch Kamski’s face darken unmistakably. 

“Do you know what you want, yet?” Kamski asks and Leo lets Kamski’s thumb go and nods, because as bad as it feels and as much as he’ll hate himself tomorrow he doesn’t want it to stop. Then suddenly Kamski is standing and reaching a hand down to help him to his feet like he’s his fucking prom date or something.

Kamski walks backward until his calves hit the low couch against the wall, holding Leo’s hand all the while. Then he’s pushing Leo to his knees. “Show me.” Kamski commands, and heat curls tight in Leo’s stomach when he realizes what he means.

Kamski sits back on the couch and Leo sinks down in front of him. Ironically, he feels like he’s on more even footing now. Emotional vulnerability in front of someone who knows all the worst things about you? Leo can’t say he’s comfortable with it. But a cock’s a cock, no matter how rich, influential, or judgemental the person it’s attached to is.

Leo runs his hands up Kamski’s shins and spreads his knees. Kamski isn’t guiding him any more and he can’t help but feel like he’s being given enough rope to hang himself by. 

Kamski shifts his hips enough to help Leo peel off his briefs. The wet fabric rolls up as he pulls them down, and Leo’s glad when they’re gone. 

He avoids the other man’s steely gaze as he takes in the sight of him, and has to choke back a laugh we he sees that Kamski is hairless here too. Leo wonders if Kamski gets one of those android chicks to help wax his balls. 

He realizes he’s staring when Kamski nudges his shoulder with his knee. When Leo looks up there’s amusement in those cold blue eyes.

“Need instructions?” He asks, tone biting. Leo hates the flair of heat the condescension sends straight through his gut.

“No.” He growls, then licks a swath over his palm (the one without the cut) and takes Kamski in hand. He’s got a nice enough dick, good size, no foreskin, but he’s not hard, so Leo sets about changing that. He squeezes him, stroking from the base to the tip in a slow rhythm that’ll hopefully get him going before too long. 

It takes a while, and Leo chooses to blame it on the fact that they both just got out of a pool, rather than himself. But after a bit he can feel Kamski growing heavy and hard in his hand. He licks his palm again and dares a glance up to gauge Kamski’s reaction, not entirely used to this ‘hands off’ attitude he’s been presented with. Kamski’s head is rolled back against his shoulder and he looks relaxed with his arms spread across the back of the couch, which Leo supposes is better than looking annoyed. Leo twists his wrist on his next few strokes, and takes a shaky breath.

He wonders is Kamski is really enjoying this or if he’s just indulging him.

Leo ducks his head for the next part, like there’s any way to hide what he’s doing at this proximity, and stuffs his own fingers down his throat. Digs his fingers into the soft palate at the back of his mouth and jams them roughly further down until he gags. Leaves them there, fighting against the convulsions of his stomach as his mouth starts to fill with drool. His throat hurts, both from the earlier vomiting and the short ridges of his nails digging into soft tissue. If he’d known he’d be doing this today, he would have trimmed them.

His supplier was the one to show him this trick, told Leo there was nothing worse than dry head before stuffing his fingers in Leo’s mouth. Dry mouth, he’d explained, was one of the most common complaints amongst red ice users, but as long as you weren’t a stuck-up, simpering _bitch,_ and didn’t mind fucking on an empty stomach, there were ways to work around it. Leo’s just glad his stomach is already empty.

Leo stops when drool begins to slip past his lips and down his chin. He swaps hands, wrapping spit coated fingers around the base of Kamski’s cock and slipping the head between his lips. He hears a sharp exhale from above and feels _immensely_ satisfied. Leo closes his eyes, just letting Kamski’s tip rest against the flat of his tongue, tasting him. Salt, sweat, and bitter chlorine. 

He bends his head forward, taking him deeper in one smooth movement, nearly to the hilt. Then there’s a hand in his hair; fingers knotted tightly in his thick locks, and he’s being pulled back roughly.

“Too much, too soon, Leo.” Kamski scolds, and he sounds only slightly breathy as his grip turns into a gently hold against the back of Leo’s skull. “Take it easy. You don’t want to seem too eager, do you?”

Leo’s face feels hot and he knows the flush will bleed down his neck. But the hand on his head is reassuring, familiar. He huffs out a sigh, and strokes his thumb over the inside of Kamski’s thigh, feeling the thick tendon at the join of his leg and torso. He sinks down again, slower this time, and adjusts his grip so his lips meet his hand about halfway down Kamski’s shaft. He pulls back, slowly, and sinks back down a little further. There are no more sharp tugs from the hand in his hair, so he figures this is a good pace. He sinks down a little farther with each bob of his head until Kamski’s nudging the back of his throat again, hot and heavy in his mouth.

It’s not like sucking cock is Leo’s favorite thing in the world, but he’s done it enough to be proficient, enough to learn to get off on the feeling of being wanted, even if it’s just as a warm hole to be used. It’s kind of exciting, in a way, to know that someone as composed as Kamski has trouble saying no to this.

Kamski’s hand has drifted from the back of Leo’s head, down to his neck. His thumb rests on the hollow of Leo’s throat, brushing in slow circles, and Leo knows that he’s focusing on the mole he has there, maybe even watching it move as his throat flexes around Kamski’s cock. He wouldn’t be the first. 

Leo exhales slowly through his nose and kneads his fingers into Kamski’s thigh as he concentrates on opening his throat, taking him that little bit deeper. His throat is raw and it _stings,_ but that just makes it better. Makes it more real, less like some kind of weird dream where he’s floating a couple of inches behind his own head, watching all this happen. Every other encounter with Kamski had hurt, left him bruised in some way, so it made sense that this would be the same. He _wants_ it to hurt, he realizes, _wants_ the reassurance of violence, because for some sick reason Kamski’s anger is easier to bear than his apathy. 

Leo pulls off Kamski’s dick and begins stroking him in quick, steady strokes. He pushes past the tightness in his chest to speak, feeling lightheaded

“So I gotta wonder…” He starts, and is caught off guard by how raspy and thin his voice is. He looks up to see Kamski tilting down to look at him and freezes when their eyes lock, mind suddenly blank. What was he wondering? He dives recklessly towards the nearest thought, feeling dumb and cruel and callous. “You were real close to my dad.” The words feel wrong in his mouth in this context and he wants to stop himself, but Leo pushes down his better self with practiced ease. “Were you guys fucking or what? That why that android you gave him had a dick? So it could be there when-”

The backhand isn’t unexpected- It’s what Leo was hoping for, but the force behind it catches him off guard and he’s sent sprawling onto his side on the cool tiles. Black dots his vision for a moment as he pushes himself back up and the pain is grounding, and there’s a part of him that doesn’t want Kamski to stop, wants Kamski to get up and kick him while he’s down, til his ribs are bruised and he tastes blood and his vision tunnels out. 

Kamski does get up, but he doesn’t act in violence. Instead of kicking him like he probably deserves, Kamski threads a hand through Leo’s hair and forces his neck to crane up and look at him. Leo doesn’t resist as he’s pulled back onto his knees by a surprisingly gentle hand.

The disappointment is chiseled into Kamski’s features. 

“I seem to recall you requesting that I stop treating you like a child. I suggest you stop acting like one.” His fingers twist, causing Leo to hiss. Kamski’s grip loosens immediately. “Unless, of course, talking about your father while you suck cock is what gets you off?”

Leo balks. “What the- fuck no!”

Kamski huffs out a laugh completely devoid of any amusement. “No, no I wouldn’t think so.” He rolls Leo’s head around by his grip in his hair, side to side and back in slow, considering movements. “No. You act out for attention. Tell me,” Leo gasps as Kamski lifts a foot and starts to grind his heel against the front of his briefs. “Am I not paying enough attention to you?”

For once Kamski doesn’t seem to expect an answer, because he pulls Leo forward towards his cock with obvious intent. Leo is glad to distract them both by swallowing him deep.

Kamski’s in control now, setting the pace by his hand in Leo’s hair. He seems to like it slow and measured, pulling Leo off slowly before bottoming out in his throat and holding him there, letting Leo choke around him for a few seconds before easing out again, and fuck if Leo doesn’t think it’s the hottest thing in the world. The pressure on the front of his briefs is still there, and while the sensation of wet, rough fabric pressed against his dick isn’t all that pleasant, it _is_ a sensation, and it’s all Leo can do not to grind desperately up against it. He tries to keep still though, to just let himself be used however Kamski wants to use him, to keep his jaw slack and his hands balled up in fists on his thighs, even though he’s desperate to touch _something_ \- himself or Kamski, it doesn't matter.

Kamski finally relents, even if only because he needs surer footing now that he’s getting closer. Leo can taste him on his tongue with every pass of his hot length past his lips-salty, a different kind of bitter than the chlorine from the pool, and the pace is getting faster. Kamski isn’t loud-which is unsurprising, but his breaths are coming shorter, faster. Leo does his best to work his tongue on the underside of Kamski’s cock and breathe through his nose.

Then Kamski slows, pulling out until the head of his cock is resting on Leo’s lower lip. Leo uses the opportunity to tongue at his slit, and Kamski exhales sharply.

“Hah-Look at me, Leo.” He raps the knuckles of the hand not twisted in Leo’s hair against his cheek. Kamski uses Leo’s name like a weapon, like he knows somehow how much Leo loves hearing it. Leo wouldn’t be able to disobey even if he wanted do.

Leo unscrews his eyes and looks up to meet Kamski’s unwavering gaze. His eyes are hooded, glassy, but still focused entirely on him and Leo feels flush with that hot-cold feeling again, desire and anxiety. He doesn’t break eye contact as Kamski slowly pulls him back onto his cock, so he sees how Kamski licks his lips, the fascinated way he watches every inch of his length sink into Leo’s mouth. He hits the back of Leo’s throat and the tight hand in his hair turns into a gentle caress. “Good.” Kamski breathes, and fuck Leo _hates_ the way the praise makes him feel like he’s redlining. 

Kamski begins fucking his mouth in earnest, pulling Leo forward to match the rocking of his hips, though still slower than Leo has come to expect from this kind of thing. Kamski’s eyes slide closed and Leo is glad to break eye contact. He’s a mess and he knows it- the constant stimulation to his sore throat means his face is covered in drool and snot and tears. Anticipation curls in Leo’s gut because he’s not sure what comes after Kamski is satisfied- would he be sent to his room to jack off alone like the sad sack of shit that he his? Would Kamski kick him out? Things were bound to be even more strained after this.

Kamski hits the back of his throat once, twice more and then Leo feels his cock pulse and twitch against his tongue. Kamski yanks Leo back by his hair roughly and fists his other hand around himself as he comes in spurts.

Leo winces when he feels it hitting his cheek, almost getting in his eye. Another thick rope hits his chin, and another clings to his lips. Kamski is panting, chest heaving and face slightly flushed, and it’s the least composed Leo has ever seen him. He pushes the dripping head of his cock against Leo’s lips and Leo feels slightly dazed as he laps at it, cleaning it off with his tongue.

Kamski steps back and collapses back on the couch. Leo immediately misses the contact, but doesn’t follow. Kamski is still watching him, his expression dark, and Leo thinks he knows the kind of show he’s looking for. He carefully wipes Kamski’s come off his face, gathering it with the pad of his thumb before slowly licking it off, rolling every white, sticky drop into his mouth. It’s gross, it always is, but he swallows it down just to be able to see Kamski’s reaction. He doesn’t miss the way Kamski’s eyes stay on his mouth as he pats his lap. “Come here.”

It takes a moment for Leo’s body to respond. There’s still a small part of him that refuses to believe this is actually happening, that’s convinced that he’s somehow separate from what’s been going on. If he’d been less out of it he might have recognized it for the same stubborn part of him that refused to acknowledge his own culpability for most of his actions.

Leo climbs onto the couch on shaky legs and straddles Kamski’s lap. He has no reason to be nervous considering he just finished licking Kamski’s come off his fingers, but his entire body is tense. Maybe it’s just more after effects of coming down off of the bender he’d been on, maybe it’s having Kamski’s focus wholly on him.

Kamski seems to pick up on his anxiety and strokes his hands up Leo’s sides in a way that’s probably meant to be soothing. “Relax.”

“I’m as relaxed as I can be.” Leo bites back, but he still tries to settle more comfortably against him. He hangs his arms loosely about Kamski’s shoulders, still feeling weird. This was almost too intimate somehow, more so than having the other man’s cock in his mouth.

Kamski gropes Leo through the front of his briefs, pale fingers wrapping around him through the fabric, bringing him back to full hardness. Watching Kamski spit into his own hand before slipping it into the front of Leo’s underwear is probably going to be burned in his brain forever, or maybe not because he’s not sure how his brain has room for anything other than the feeling of Kamski’s hand around his cock, warm and not nearly wet enough.

The pace Kamski sets starts off slow. Not teasing, just steady and measured, building heat up low in his belly. Leo can feel himself ramping up embarrassingly quickly. “Ah- fuck-” He covers his mouth with a hand to stifle himself, loud out of habit, and unsure if Kamski would be into it. Even though Kamski’s not the one getting off right now, _he is_ , so what does it fucking matter anyway? 

His other hand is white-knuckle gripping the back of the couch in a hold that stings because he’s pretty sure the cut’s come open again. Leo has a crazy moment where he’s worried that they’re probably gonna ruin Kamski’s $20,000 bespoke designer sofa with blood and pool water and ass sweat or whatever, but he’s distracted immediately by Kamski’s voice, hot in his ear.

“I told you to relax.”

Leo tries to, to focus on the feelings and the hot press of another body against his own instead of the million and one thoughts flitting around his head. He watches, hazy, as Kamski spits into his hand again before resuming, and suddenly it gets real fuckin’ hard to _relax._

Leo pushes up into Kamski’s hand, pivoting on his knees, winding back up immediately. Turning the screws, hot pressure tight in his gut. Then Kamski is wrapping his other hand around the back of Leo’s neck, holding him in place. “Easy, easy.” He murmurs. “Just let it happen.”

Leo hadn’t realized just how tense he’d gotten, chasing after it like a teenager trying to finish before mom gets home. He takes a few shallow shuddery breaths and unclenches this thighs, because listening to Kamski seems like the best option right now, because sometimes it’s easier to let someone push you off the edge instead of jumping off yourself. Kamski’s rubbing up and down his back now, still slowly stroking him and then Leo is suddenly coming apart.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck oh ff-” It catches him off guard and it _hurts_. His body is too keyed up, blood pressure all fucked from the after effects of the red ice. His hips lift up on their own as Kamski slowly strokes him through it. His thighs try to close around Kamski’s hips and his head ends up on Kamski’s chest, so he’s able to look between them, see the circle of Kamski’s fingers around his cock, closing over the head, sticky with come, before slowing stroking back down, squeezing him for every last drop. He knows he’s panting and whining like a bitch, but it’s hard to care. Finally, finally, the intensity eases back, and he’s left leaning bonelessly against Kamski’s chest.

Everything is quiet for a while. There’s nothing but the rush of blood in Leo’s ears and the feeling of Kamski’s hand, still running soothingly up and down his spine. It’s almost enough to make him drift off. He’s dimly aware as Kamski switches his focus to Leo’s right arm, lifting it and manipulating his elbow, then his wrist, like he’s testing the joints. It’s weird, but Leo’s too tired to exactly care. Maybe Kamski’s not used to fucking actual human people, is more used to having to make sure he didn’t break his overpriced sex dolls.

The afterglow is wearing off disappointingly quickly. His back is cold and the quiet is getting awkward, considering they’re both still awake. Leo closes his eyes and curls the fingers of his left hand up in his lap. It’s hard to know where to put his hands when he’s not really sure why he’s doing this anymore. At first it was because he’d been feeling hollow and angry and had needed to do something stupid and risky like he always did. Now that part’s done and he’s left with exactly what he had before; listless frustration and a bad taste in his mouth.

Then Kamski is pushing Leo to the side, sliding out from under him. Leo goes easily because honestly it was inevitable. He keeps his eyes resolutely closed, curling up his side to face the back of the couch. He hears a door close and he flinches. There’s no reason for it to hurt as much as it does. These feelings aren't real, he tells himself, his brain’s just too wrung out of dopamine and serotonin to feel anything else. Just another side effect, he should be used to it by now. He can figure out a way to get out of here after he’s gotten some rest.

Despite the cold and the damp, Leo’s exhausted enough that he’s almost asleep when he hears the door opening again. He rolls over to see Kamski, now robed, padding across the room carrying a towel and a first aid kit. He throws the towel over Leo unceremoniously and then sits on the ground next to him.

“Give me your hand.” He says, and Leo, not knowing what else to do, obeys.

**Author's Note:**

> by unpopular demand, here's this thing that no one asked for!
> 
> I had to finish this to fulfill the terms of a witch's curse
> 
> technically this could be considered apocryphal to ad interim, but it not canon to it unless u want it to be. shroedinger's fucky


End file.
